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matters. The quilters think that Mayor Grayson doesn’t fully understand the contributions they make to the community and that he’s only seeing the group from a dollars-and-cents standpoint. Mayor Grayson states he is simply searching for ways to increase revenue for Dappled Hills. Maybe the mayor can go to the next quilt show. If my memory serves me,” added Ramsay, “there’s one this very weekend.”
    The mayor’s mouth twisted as he stared coolly at the peacemaking police chief. Beatrice knew Ramsay would do anything to avoid trouble. All he wanted to do was lounge around in comfortable clothes reading Thoreau and making stabs at penning poetry. Frayed tempers and veiled threats only meant a necessary return to police work.
    Booth had apparently come to the same conclusion as his gaze rested on Ramsay’s anxious, supplicating face. “I suppose I could come to the quilt show before effecting the permit and tax change.” He no longer glared at Jo, who’d smugly swept out of the meeting room. Now Opal was busily giving Booth the time and place for the quilt show, jotting it on a piece of paper and hurrying over to hand it to him as she babbled on.
    Ramsay appeared vastly relieved at diffusing the tense situation, and the town council members appeared to share his relief, rushing on to the other items on the meeting’s agenda.
    Beatrice watched as Ramsay swabbed his face with a handkerchief. He was probably going directly home after the meeting, pouring himself a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and writing a celebratory poem. But if the tension in the town hall had been defused, the situation itself hadn’t.

Chapter 3
    Beatrice felt a little apprehensive when she walked from her car to enter the quilt show. She never looked forward to scenes, and she had a funny feeling that someone was going to cause a huge scene at this show. It actually started out being Beatrice that caused one—the car alarm for her new sedan started inexplicably going off when she was getting out of her car, causing several people to turn and stare, making her color a little.
    But the scene inside the quilt show was either going to be Jo picking at Booth or Opal reproachfully telling the mayor the error of his ways. Or maybe it would even be a scene playing out between Opal and Jo or Karen and Jo. She’d dodge out if things got too heated.
    Although she was tense when she got there, she felt herself relax as soon as she entered the quilt show. The event was being held at a historic school in nearby Blowing Rock. The school had been meticulously renovated with an eye to keeping the historic flavor of the building and was now used for traveling exhibits and art shows. The town kept the original tin ceiling and brick walls, and the hardwood floors gleamed. Quilts in every texture and with every color imaginable were carefully displayed with thoughtful lighting.
    The first quilt she saw was one of Karen Taylor’s. She gave a sigh of pleasure when she looked at it. It was absolutely stunning. Karen did indeed have a gift for quilting and a talent for design.
    Fellow Village Quilter Georgia wasn’t quite as sure about it. “So, you like this quilt?” asked Georgia dubiously. She pursed her mouth, staring at the quilt.
    “Don’t you?” asked Beatrice. “See the asymmetrical geometric pattern, the black-and-white scheme with the interesting copper shade Karen brought into the quilt? Art deco–inspired, obviously. It’s straight out of the 1930s.” She studied it, wistfully. If only she could get her quilting up to this level. She had great design ideas but couldn’t implement them the way they needed to be.
    “I wish it would go back to the 1930s,” said Georgia with a little laugh. “What good is the quilt if you don’t want to cuddle up in it?” Georgia’s quilts exuded warmth and softness with their textures. “Of course, Savannah’s are kind of prickly-looking, too, aren’t they? All those precise stitches in the rigidly